Solace
by BrieflyDel
Summary: There are some mistakes you cannot fix, although the touch of a soothing hand oftentimes can heal them. M/P post-Moria slash.


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Solace

What blinded him more, the shock of light after four days in Moria or the numbness of the last ten minutes, Merry could not tell. He stumbled out onto the side of the mountain, the air searing his throat. Little rivulets of sweat froze on his face, throwing his sense of balance even more off-kilter. He could barely make sense of himself through the throbbing whiteness -- the only moment of any clarity was that ragged scream of Frodo's: everything seemed to turn on an axis around it.

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Gandalf--!

The feeling of snow beneath his feet propelled him more than anything. The sound of his heartbeats filled his ears again, reminding Merry that he was not only alive, but close to exploding. He staggered a few steps farther, his eyes finally coming into his focus as his knees began to buckle. He looked around at the other members of the Fellowship, sprawled across the east face of Caradhras like beads spilled from a broken necklace. Someone was restraining Gimli from charging back into the mines -- by the look of him it was Boromir. Sam had collapsed in the snow and was weeping freely on the ground. Legolas just stood there, gaping. Out of the corner of his eye, Merry spotted Frodo wandering, directionless, away from the others. And Pippin--

Pippin hadn't yet seemed to realize he could stop running yet. He was lurching over the rocks like some sort of loose-jointed marionette, his arms flailing. Merry watched him, slack-jawed, for a moment; and then some age-old instinct surfaced and he clumsily tried to catch up. When he was within arm's length, he reached for his cousin's shoulder.

"Pippin--"

The hobbit collapsed at his touch. He fell limply to the ground, and a well of wrenching sobs bubbled up from within him. Merry stood above him for an instant, dazed, then lowered himself to his knees and laid his hands on Pippin's side. The grief was tangible in the tremors wracking his body: some distant voice told Merry to make Pip stop before he started hyperventilating and passed out. Almost of their own accord, his hands began kneading the trembling flesh beneath them. Pippin's cries redoubled, and he began to choke out words.

"I'm so sorry! It's my fault we lost him! I didn't mean to! I'm -- so -- _sorry--_!"

Merry was still too numb himself to know what to say. Pip fell back into voiceless sobs. Distantly Merry heard Aragorn speak, though he did not understand the words.

Now that he too was on the ground, Merry could feel himself shaking. He pressed himself closer to Pippin, still staring into space. The warmth of Pippin's body began to pierce through the disbelief. _Thank goodness we're alive!_ Merry thought. A fierce pang of guilt stabbed at him immediately, but the joy of escaping death was too powerful. He clutched Pippin to him harder. _We're alive, we're **alive!**_

The touch of a hand on his shoulder did not register with Merry for a moment. He looked up with bleary eyes. Against the glare of the cruelly blue sky he could distinguish the elf, an apologetic expression on his face. "We must get moving again," he said softly, and took one of Merry's hands. The hobbit blinked at it, and looked back at Pippin, who had gone eerily still and silent. Legolas tugged insistently at the hand.

"I'll get him," Merry found himself snapping. Legolas straightened, and backed off. Merry turned back to his cousin and tried to take his shoulders again. "Pippin--"

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"No!" he shrieked, and wrenched himself away.

"Pip--"

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"Leave me here!" he cried. "I don't deserve to go on!"

Merry could feel the eyes of Boromir and Aragorn, added to the elf's. He slowly extended an arm and slipped it under Pippin's side. He felt him wince away from the touch, but Merry persisted. "Come on," he intoned in Pippin's ear. "We have to get you up."

Slowly, weakly, the younger hobbit drew himself into a sitting position. He faced Merry, the anguish spilled all over his face. Merry wanted to do nothing more than fix it, to reassure his cousin right here and now--

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But we have to move.

We have to.

Somehow, he got to his feet. Pippin watched him, an unreadable expression in his eyes. Merry swayed on weak knees: he was caught by the strong steadying hands of Aragorn. For an instant more, Pippin stared up at the semicircle gathered around him, then lifted his hand skyward, begging to be helped up. Boromir hefted him upright. Without another word, they all began following Aragorn as he ran down the mountain and left the ruin of Moria behind.

* * *

Pippin sat huddled in the roots of a mallorn tree, listening vaguely to the chorus ringing through Caras Galadhon. He could care less about whatever they were saying: he had other voices to contend with.

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Fool of a Took.

How many times had it been said? _Stupid Pippin, worthless Pippin, why can't you stay out of trouble, Pippin?_ But nowhere did the accusation hurt more than from the lips of the wizard. This wasn't a situation where he could rely on indulging relatives or Merry's smooth talking to get him out of this. No, no one was saying anything, but he could feel the reproach prowling behind their eyes. _You did this._

A sharp gasp escaped him, and he fought to swallow another bout of tears. He had no idea there was still any water left in him -- how could such a little thing as himself do so much weeping?

The voice of Legolas cut through his self-flagellations. "A lament for Gandalf." Pippin froze.

Unseen, Merry asked, "What do they say about him?"

"I have not the heart to tell you. For me, the grief is still too near."

Pippin couldn't bear any more. He leapt up and dashed off through the trees, trying to flee the elvish aria which mourned the consequence of _his_ actions.

He had no sense of time or place in Lothlorien anyway, so he could not tell how far his legs took him. But at some point, the song grew dim, and he finally felt alone enough to stop. He fell to the ground again, landing on a bank of moss near a brook, and began crying again. _If only I could take it back!_ he thought desperately. _If only I could just apologize and that would be the end of it! But no, you've done something too big for that, Peregrin Took. _

Gandalf should have listened to Elrond back at Rivendell: I've been nothing but trouble for this quest since the beginning! He reeled off a litany of all the mistakes he'd made along the way, and soon he was lost in a wash of self-loathing. His hands ripped at the moss-covered rock, and soon he'd laid bare a good portion of the stone's surface. The bald patches seemed to mock him somehow, and finally he just turned away and sank his face into his hands.

Pippin gritted his teeth and choked back more tears. _I'm not the one who deserves to cry,_ he told himself bitterly. _It was me who lost him for us! I have no right to mourn him!_

He began to rock back and forth, clutching his knees tight against his heaving chest. A blackness came over him, and he became so lost even his head stopped pounding. _Good,_ a part of him sighed. _I would rather have nothing than all that other. I can't bear another moment like the past few days!_

He was not aware of the presence next to him until he heard his name break the rhythm.

"Pippin? Have I finally found you?"

Sniffling, he drew his tear-swollen face out of his hands and met Merry's eye. The other hobbit was crouched next to him, concern etched in every feature. His brow furrowed even more, and he reached a hand out to Pippin's shoulder. "I've been looking for you for _ages,"_ he exclaimed softly. "I've been so worried about you..." He ran his hand up Pippin's neck and gently stroked his hair. The very touch of another person dissolved Pippin's resolve, and with a muffled moan he leaned into Merry's chest, smothering himself in his jacket. Merry sat down and enveloped him in his arms, one around his waist, the other still smoothing the rumpled curls. Pippin felt he might pass out for relief, and his lips sought Merry's hungrily. Merry let him do what he wanted, let him kiss for as long as he needed to. With that, Pippin settled into Merry's shoulder once more, relishing the heat of his body and the lingering taste of his tongue.

"Merry..." he breathed, and could not think of anything to follow up with. He was simply too grateful to string words together, so he let his mouth talk for him. He felt a different kind of tremor run through the hobbit, a happy shudder coursing its way through Merry's flesh. But there were clothes in the way -- Pippin _needed_ that raw touch on his skin. He found that Merry's fingers were already making short work of his buttons. Other times Pippin would have smiled, broken off the kiss, and set himself upon the buttons with his teeth; but tonight was not for playing: he needed to made whole again.

He deepened the kiss, as though searching for some missing element Merry kept hidden within him. Beneath him, he felt Merry arch his back and moan. Pippin squeezed his eyes shut, as the feeling was almost too exquisite to comprehend. The world stopped mattering; he forgot about laments, and quests, and the Fellowship, and even Moria: he was drowning in the solace offered by Merry's arms.

They made love silently, without their usual banter or games. Each seemed to have some great sorrow to escape, and it too was lost in the tangle of limbs and sweat and kisses. Afterwards they lay wrapped in each other's arms, not daring to move for fear of shattering the moment. Only after many hours did Pippin give voice to his fears.

"Do they all hate me, Merry? Do they want me to come back?"

"Hate you?" he repeated. "No, Pip, they don't. No one has said a word against you: in fact, I imagine Boromir is still running himself ragged looking for you." A small smile touched his lips for the first time. "Good thing I found you first, eh?"

Pippin's jaw dropped. "Meriadoc Brandybuck! The very _idea_ that I would--"

Merry laughed, and silenced him with a kiss. "Don't get so upset, love, I meant no harm."

Pippin shook his head. "You're _wicked,_ is what you are," he sputtered.

"Aye, but you're not complaining, are you?" he grinned. Weakly, Pippin returned the smile. Merry beamed. "There we go," he said softly. "How I feared I'd never see that wonderful smile of yours again..."

Pippin melted. "Oh Merry," he gasped. "What would I do without you? I'd be completely and utterly lost!"

Merry nuzzled his neck. "That doesn't come close to where I'd be without you, love. And I want you to know that everyone else has been extremely worried about you. We _all_ want you back, Pip -- even Sam's said so."

Pippin giggled a little. "Trust a Brandybuck and a Took," he grunted in a gruff, exaggerated Gamgee voice.

"Well, if there's one thing _not_ to trust us on, it's missing so many meals as we have! You know, I set out just before supper, and I do believe it might be elevensies by now." He took Pippin's hand and kissed it. "D'you want to go back?"

Pippin jerked upright. "No!" he cried abruptly, clasping Merry's hand in his own. "No..." He looked around. "Can't we just... stay here a little while longer?" he pleaded.

Merry settled down and took him in his arms again. "Whatever you like," he whispered. The two of them lay huddled against each other for some time more, marveling at the mallorn trees and at the comfort to be found in the sense of touch. Pippin became aware of Merry's breath in his ear. "I love you," he murmured. "I'll never leave you behind."

"I know," he replied, and smiled.

~ fin ~


End file.
